


Today I Recommend...

by KateMonster



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, hella fucking gay sign
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateMonster/pseuds/KateMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the "Hella Fucking Gay" barista sign. Louis' tired of his dry spell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Today I Recommend...

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this tumblr post.](http://ifshehadwings.tumblr.com/post/51910783806/brolininthetardis-this-is-a-coffeeshop-au)
> 
> The Nick/Harry is LITERALLY the most minor mention in the history of ever, sorry! I'm working on one, I promise.
> 
> No beta has been near this thing, it's a silly little tumblr fic. Enjoy!

"Harry," Louis says firmly. "Hand me the chalk."

"What are you doing, Lou?" Harry, asks, leaning half of his long frame over the drinks pass and craning his neck to see the drink recommendation board. 

"Writing out the recommendations for the day," Louis say. "Which, today-"

"Is that supposed to be me?" 

" _No,_ you knob, it's me. If it was supposed to be you, he'd be a much ganglier stick figure with a cloud of squiggly curls about his head."

"Is this about your dry spell?" Harry's doing that big-eyed sympathetic thing that he knows Louis hates, because Harry Styles doesn't even have to try to pull and Louis can't actually remember the last time he got laid. Hateful.

"It's not a dry spell anymore, Harold," Louis says, sighing as he puts the finishing touches on the word "number". "I believe at this point it's officially a drought."

"I think you should label the stick figure," Harry says. "Just to be sure."

"Brilliant," Louis says, adding a "Louis!" with a flourish. "So, you think it'll work?"

"I think it's a great idea, Lou," Harry says, sincerely, before glancing up at the clock. "Better go unlock the doors, your public awaits."

"Right," Louis says. He flips the closed sign over to open, unlocks the front door, leans out and shouts "Come and get it, boys!"

*

About the time the third number rolls in, just before lunch, Louis is bouncing behind the counter, beaming, his fingertips twitching with excitement. The fourth one comes from an extremely cute guy in a vest, with an absolutely bewitching Irish accent. He winks and takes his latte with a smirk.

"Looks like I've got a little competition, mate," he says, indicating the little pil of napkins and scraps of paper that Louis' accumulated by the till. 

"Maybe you'd better label them, Lou," Harry says, steaming milk and bopping his head along with the Gorgon City song playing over the sound system. 

"They've got names on," Louis says dubiously. "But maybe you're right." 

He grabs a pen during the next lull and scrawls "adorable little Irishman" on the most recent napkin. The first one, from the guy who shouldered his way into the shop barely a minute after opening gets "QUIFF" in big letters, while the second, after some thought, gets labeled "handsome BIG Irishman". 

"Oh," Louis says delightedly, "I've got two Irishmen!"

"That's lovely, Lou," Harry says. 

"Do you remember this one?" Louis asks, holding up the third number, printed neatly on a scrap of notepaper.

"I think that was the one in the tip jar," Harry says. "But I saw him put it in."

"Did he put a tip in too?"

"Fiver."

"Okay, I'll keep it."

"You would've thrown it away if he hadn't tipped?" Harry asks incredulously. "He was _hot_."

"And also a good tipper." No name, slipped in the tip jar, interesting.

Louis gets one more before his shift ends, which gets labeled "quiff, tattoos, OUT OF MY LEAGUE". 

"He was lovely," Harry says, folding himself into the booth seat across from Louis. "If you're not going to call him, can I have it?"

"No!" Louis gasps. "He might've been too beautiful to look at for sustained intervals, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to call him! Here," he says, shuffling through the slips of paper for the QUIFF one. "You can have this one, he was old."

"Well, I don't want the old one!"

"God, he wasn't that old. Like, thirty or something. He was the first one in today, remember?"

"The tall one?" Harry asks, smiling slowly. "With the hands?"

"Take it, you slut."

Harry snatches the slip up and pulls out his phone.

*

"Hello?"

"Hi," Louis says, then clears his throat. "Hi, this is Louis, the barista?"

"Oh!" The voice on the other end is _lovely_ not too deep, but sonorous. Yeah, sonorous is a good word. "Hi, I didn't, well, I didn't think you'd call. Or, not so quickly anyway."

"I was intrigued, Mister No-Name. Slipped your number in the tip jar like a ninja, not another word. I'm not even sure I remember you!"

"Oh, sorry, I'm Liam," the voice on the phone says. "Liam. I, um, was wearing tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie? Not the best first impression, really."

"You've just described literally two thirds of my male customers." 

"Maybe you'd remember me if you saw me?" Liam says, maybe a little obviously hopeful, but Louis finds that he rather likes that.

"Yeah, okay," he says. "Not coffee, I'm over coffee for today. Drinks?"

"Oh, well," Liam says. "I don't drink much, really, but sure. We could have a drink."

" _A_ drink," Louis says. "As in, one?"

"Yeah?"

"It'll do for a start."

*

"Hi, Louis."

Louis blinks up at an extremely handsome face. Strong jaw, kind eyes, freckles, wide smile. Liam has broad shoulders and strong hands. Louis definitely remembers being vaguely disappointed when, earlier in the day, Liam had handed him a fiver from his hot chocolate, no number in sight.

"Oh, I remember you," Louis says, and smiles.


End file.
